Oldest Living Confederate Widow Tells All
“Once fourteen prisms hang in another little girl’s room, these prove that even whitest daylight lives packed with secretive wild colors. God assigned me to the household of a grown lady once also a wild child but stung so strict! Let’s skip it, child. Let’s commence with happiness, my own, and work our way down, okay?
I picture my gold-haired best friend, Shirley Williams. Nine birthdays into things, Shirl ofttimes slept over at our house. It had three stories, one corner of each: stained glass.... Shirl was born poor. When stepping into our place, she forever whispered.
I’ll start at Happiness. Okay—once—that.
Just tuck Shirl and me into separate high-backed rosewood beds carved with garlands. My room’s bay window had prisms playing starring parts. Prisms decked my quilts and wallpaper with blobs of color like the very rainbow’s droppings. One white enameled drawer-pull beat with changing tints, kind of gulped with light—like the gill on something living. Across Shirl’s slip (strung neat as her across a chair back) six raw colors held a powwow.MoreLess
I picture my gold-haired best friend, Shirley Williams. Nine birthdays into things, Shirl ofttimes slept over at our house. It had three stories, one corner of each: stained glass.... Shirl was born poor. When stepping into our place, she forever whispered.
I’ll start at Happiness. Okay—once—that.
Just tuck Shirl and me into separate high-backed rosewood beds carved with garlands. My room’s bay window had prisms playing starring parts. Prisms decked my quilts and wallpaper with blobs of color like the very rainbow’s droppings. One white enameled drawer-pull beat with changing tints, kind of gulped with light—like the gill on something living. Across Shirl’s slip (strung neat as her across a chair back) six raw colors held a powwow.MoreLess
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